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"I thought there was a special providence that looked out after these things," said Gerry. A ten-dollar jackpot dropped into the takeout drawer.

"There is," said a voice. "And don't whack the machine—the lottery corporation doesn't favor muscleheads abusing church property."

A Special Providence

Sally Schofield was new to Sur la Mer and with the soccer mom’s requisite formula family: minivan, flaxen-haired children only moderately overweight, large hairy dog, large hairy husband with pattern baldness.

The invitation was for cookies and conversation. It had been Hillary Braunstein's turn to break the news.

Boys' Night Out

"I'm Klein, the clone..." we never thought much about it as other than a funny thing to say, a joke between brothers. We would then gravely shake hands and break into gales of laughter.

That's me, Stewart, and Marshall, my brother. My twin, identical twin, actually.

Klein, the Clone

"When I grant a boon to such as you, it's usually for a Volvo station wagon. Volvo wagons are my specialty. After wheat." The mouse demon blew his nose, refolded the handkerchief, and stuffed it back in his green tights. "Choose please. I have other calls to make."

I Want to Share Your Wheat

"Consider the pickle," said Prosper, "in its progression from a humble garden vegetable to picklehood. Spiced, diced, plucked, peeled, steeped and cooked in a jar, yes? For now, you are a cucumber—not much going on, just waiting."

I considered the cucumber.

The Perfect Homburg

Lee Frelinghuyser was the casualty of a successful advertising career. He drove a cab on the days he was sober enough to find the garage.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning and, as it was Thursday, Lee was potzed.

An Unwarmed Fish